


Plus One

by Incog_Ninja



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Play, Barfly, Copulation in a broom closet, Cunnilingus, Dean driving Baby is a kink, Dean has a really short refractory period, F/M, Female Ejaculation, Finger Sucking, Finger feeding, He’s also the most fun, He’s really really good-looking, I love pink chiffon, Maybe even a fetish, Vaginal Fingering, eyefucking, shots, wedding party
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-21
Updated: 2018-06-27
Packaged: 2019-05-26 13:34:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,629
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15001967
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Incog_Ninja/pseuds/Incog_Ninja
Summary: OFC Vanessa hates weddings until she meets a handsome stranger.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: All recognizable elements herein belong to their respective owner(s); the rest belongs to me.
> 
> This is set somewhere in s10 post-Demon!Dean.

She hates weddings. Well, hate is a strong word, but they give her anxiety. It’s always awkward for her because she can never figure out whom to take as a date – or if she even wants one. She likes the idea of being able to leave whenever she wants, so taking a date kind of cramps that style.

 

This wedding in particular is stressing her out because she’s a bridesmaid. At least they stopped at a bar before the reception and there are shots – terrible toasts, but shots, nonetheless.

 

“To keep a marriage brimming,” the best man starts. “With love in the loving cup,” he continues, and he’s already slurring his words. “When you’re _wrong_ , admit it,” he says like he’s some kind of marriage guru. “And when you’re right, shut up!”

 

The entire wedding party, except her, busts into laughter as she scans the bar and the other patrons, silently apologizing for the idiots she’s with. She catches the gaze of a hot guy at the end of the bar. She watches as he rolls his eyes before looking into his glass of brown liquid.

 

 _I hear ya cluckin’, big chicken_ , she thinks to herself, wishing she were anywhere but there.

 

She longs for her pajama pants and an old Cary Grant movie as the bartender lines up another round of shots. One more stupid toast down and she sneaks a glance back at the enticing stranger. His profile is classically male – square jaw with a five o’clock shadow, strong cheekbones, crinkles at the edge of his eye, slightly upturned top lip and soft, full bottom lip-

 

“Vanessa!” she’s rudely dragged from her observations by the fucking bride. “Do. You. Want. Another. Shot.” She’s being extremely loud and succinct, so she’s obviously wasted, too.

 

Vanessa nods her head before peering back at the guy. Her breath catches in her throat when she sees that he’s watching her, a small smile plays on his lush lips and crinkles his eyes as he slowly spins his glass. She instinctually bites her bottom lip and his face splits into a full, blinding grin before he runs his tongue back and forth across his own bottom lip. He tilts his head and juts his chin in a gesture to beckon her and she doesn’t hesitate.

 

When she stops at his side, he doesn’t say a word as he hands her a shot with a roguish grin. They tap glasses without an absurd toast then down their liquor, never taking their eyes off each other. She sets her glass next to his and he speaks. “Rough night, sweetheart?” His eyes sparkle like cool emeralds and she’s mesmerized – and probably drunk - but also,  _wow, his eyes are pretty_.

 

“I hate weddings,” she confides in him without preamble, turning into his warmth and leaning one elbow on the bar. They both huff a laugh. His eyes flick up to the commotion of her party behind her and she closes her eyes on a roll. “Seriously – I don’t even know half these fuckwads and I don’t want to.”

 

“Stay here,” he says without missing a beat, dropping his eyes back to meet hers and she’s suddenly very, very warm.

 

She draws a shaky breath. “I… I’m a _bridesmaid_ ,” she replies dumbly, as if that’s an excuse to refuse anything he asks of her. He rolls his head and his eyes and smirks then waves the bartender back over.

 

“So, you’re gonna, what – get back in the limo or whatever with a buncha assholes you hate?” He chuckles with a wry smirk.

 

“I don’t _hate_ them-” she tries to backtrack, shaking her long spiraled hair down her back.

 

“You said hate,” he interrupts her with a pointed finger and a smug-ass smile.

 

“I didn’t…” She closes her eyes and bites her lip. “Hate is a very strong word.”

 

He chuckles again, running a finger around the rim of his glass, dragging his gaze down over her petite, pink chiffon wrapped form, past the flouncy skirt, over her shapely, bronzed calves and back up. There’s definite mischief in his gaze.

 

She rolls her eyes. “You’re fucking with me.”

 

He purses his lips and squints into his glass before lifting it for another drink. “Not yet, I’m not.” He sips his drink and drills her into place with his eyes.

 

This guy – this _man_ – is nothing like the crowd she’s with. He’s older, but not too old; he’s Carhartt instead of Abercrombie; and there’s something very dangerous about him – like he’s one of those swashbuckling anti-heroes from the Silver Screen. She feels her mouth hang open, and her mind races with an idea.

 

“Vanessa!” the bride shouts again. “Are you coming? _God_ …” her voice trails off as the wedding party lumbers toward the exit.

 

“Yes!” Vanessa replies before turning back to her new friend and potential partner in crime. “Okay, here’s the deal,” Errol Flynn’s eyebrows pique and he swivels his bar stool to face her, giving her his undivided attention. “I wanna have fun tonight and I think you’re just the ticket. If you’ve got nothing better to do, I’ll get you drunk and fed – and believe me the menu is stellar – and I’ll suck your cock.” He almost chokes on his whiskey. “On one condition.”

 

He barely recovers before raising his eyebrows further in question. “And what’s that?” he asks, utterly amused and intrigued.

 

“Make a scene,” she says, with a wicked grin. “Give ‘em something to remember me by and maybe I’ll never be asked back again.”

 

He appears to consider the proposition for a brief moment before downing his drink, reaching for his wallet, slapping cash on the bar, and evacuating his bar stool. When he stands he’s towering over her, even in her pink, satin heels. He pushes his shoulders back in a stretch, his thin cotton t-shirt straining across his broad, solid chest, and she is certain that she’s made the best decision ever.

 

He makes a show of waving her toward the door. “Lead the way, princess,” he rumbles with a grin and she laughs, spinning on her heels then trotting toward the door.

 

When they make their way outside, the wedding party is posing for a picture under the bar sign and the bride yanks her into frame. “Who’s Blue Collar Clint?” the bride whispers, keeping a smile plastered for the wedding photographer.

 

Vanessa internally beams at the descriptor and thinks fast. “My plus one – didn’t I tell you?”

 

The bride gives her a look. “No, Van, you didn’t tell me,” she answers with a hiccup. “And… since when do you bring a date?” The bride looks genuinely puzzled, but is also checking out Vanessa’s plus one with unguarded interest.

 

Vanessa laughs and rolls her eyes before wiggling from the bride’s grip and crossing the walkway to meet her handsome prince for the night. “You know,” she says, watching the wedding party file into the limo. “I dunno your name,” she admits, feeling a little bit embarrassed that she didn’t get his name before offering to give him head. “Mine’s Vanessa, if you didn’t figure that out from Nicole’s screeching.” She holds out a hand like she’s sealing a business deal.

 

He looks down at her hand with a cocked brow then raises his gaze to hers. His eyes have turned a luminous jade since they left the darkness of the bar. The green is ringed in gold, too, and she thinks he reminds her of a tiger. He slips  one big hand under her thick, dark hair, wraps his fingers around the back of her neck, and his thumb slides along the column of her throat as he slowly dips his head to kiss her cheek – it’s gentle yet brief. Then he mutters, “Dean,” into her ear.

 

The driver honks the horn and Vanessa pulls back to look Dean in the eye. “Ready?” she asks breathless, curling her fingers around the black denim of his jacket and the soft flannel of his shirt. She starts to back toward the limousine, pulling him with her.

 

Dean tosses a glance up at the car, squaring his hips, and the driver honks again. He stops her movement, pulls her into his body, and throws an arm around her shoulders. “Fuck the limo.”

 

Vanessa giggles with thrill and surprise, looking up at him. “Should we call a cab?” she asks as he steers her away from the car and the shouting bride.

 

Dean shakes his head. “I’ll drive,” he says, digging into his pants pocket with the hand that isn’t dangling over her shoulder. “You know where we’re goin’?” He stops next to a gorgeous classic black car and releases her shoulder to unlock and open the passenger door for her.

 

“Yeah,” she replies, swiping layers of chiffon under her backside before sliding across the leather into the passenger seat. “I have the address in my phone.” Once Vanessa is settled, Dean shuts the car door and heads to the driver’s side.

 

She watches him round the shiny length of the hood, the setting sun shocks electric through his eyes and casts shadows on the sharp curves of his jaw and cheekbones. That light serves him well – but then so did the light in the bar.

 

Dean climbs into the driver’s seat, slams his door shut, and brings the car to a roar. He revs the engine and glances at her, flicking his eyes down to the phone in her hand. “Where to?” he asks, throwing the car into drive.

 

Vanessa grins. “Right at the lights,” she replies, letting her eyes roam from the big hands gripping the steering wheel, up thick arms to broad shoulders, and back down to rest on strong, solid thighs. She suppresses a moan and licks her lips.

 

As Dean effortlessly guides the car along the road to make the first turn, he clicks the stereo on and “Back in Black” blares from the speakers – appropriate, what with his jacket and jeans and car.

 

“Left at the next set of lights,” she calls over the music. Dean nods and signals then smoothly changes lanes, careful eyes shifting to the rear view and side mirrors, his long, thick lashes fluttering and his irises flashing like peridot under fire. His jaw and brow are lightly tensed with concentration and his full, perfectly shaped lips are moving in sync with the lyrics. On the final turn, the steering wheel glides through his large, capable hands. He suddenly reminds her of a tiger again – sheer grace and controlled power, ready to be released at the slightest provocation.

 

Just before they pull into the porte-cochère the song switches to “Hair of the Dog” and Vanessa can feel the shit-eating grin that stretches her cheeks. The wedding party has pulled in just ahead of them, so when Dean rolls the Impala to a stop, they’re all out of the limo and staring. Nicole looks particularly stunned and Vanessa cracks up laughing.

 

“Oh, my god, you’re the fucking best,” she says, shaking her head and reaching for the door handle.

 

“Ah-ah-ah,” Dean waves his hand and scrunches his face up like he’s offended. “Not so fast, kitten.”

 

Vanessa relaxes back into the bench seat and enjoys the view as he heaves his door open and unfolds to standing, meeting the valet driver. His posture, facial expressions, and hand gestures intimidate Vanessa and she can’t even hear him, but judging by the driver’s wide eyes, she can only imagine the threats. Once Dean pointedly hands the keys to the driver, he crosses in front of the car, shooting the wedding party a smirk and wink before opening Vanessa’s door and helping her out of the car.

 

“What a gentleman,” Vanessa purrs, looping her hand through his offered arm.

 

“Hold that thought,” Dean mutters, striding toward the wedding party. Nicole’s face is fucking priceless, the other bridesmaids are openly gawking at Dean, and the dudes all stand up a whole lot taller and act a lot more sober than they really are. “Congratulations- Rachel, is it?” Dean says, extending his hand, palm up.

 

Vanessa’s convinced that Dean’s deliberately screwed up Nicole’s name, but that grin of his, the one that showcases perfect, gleaming white enamel, sending her into a spiral fantasy about his teeth and her skin, seems to placate Nicole.

 

“Nicole,” the bride replies, laying her hand over his palm, like she’s the fucking Queen of England. Before Vanessa can say a word, Dean’s placing a kiss to Nicole’s hand, and the groom, pushes forward. He looks like he’s about to either throw a punch or barf. He puffs his chest as Dean releases Nicole’s hand.

 

“Zack,” the groom announces, and Dean nods with utter disinterest before clapping Zack on the shoulder.

 

“Strong work, Zack,” Dean winks again, then waltzes past the rest of the wedding party, guiding Vanessa through the sliding doors.

 

Once inside the lobby, Vanessa grabs Dean by the hand and drags him toward the ballroom through a sea of formal wear and bemusement. She twirls to look at him, taking him in from head to toe and still disbelieving her luck at finding such perfection. “Wanna get us drinks? The wedding party has to do this big entrance...” Her face tells him she’s dreading it and Dean chuckles.

 

“Want a shot before?” Dean asks, moving toward the bar, entwining their fingers and her belly flips at the feel of his thick, rough fingers twisting with her slim, soft ones.

 

Vanessa reluctantly shakes her head. “Nicole already wants to kill me,” she replies. “We need to pace us. _Lasting_ impression, remember?” She tilts her head and Dean pouts playfully.

 

“A’right,” he replies, relinquishing his grip on her hand. “But I have plans. For later.”

 

Vanessa nods with a shiver as she turns to join the others, but not before Dean draws his hand up and back then swats her ass with a loud crack. Vanessa yelps and scurries away with a thrilled laugh, the surrounding reception guests continue to stare at Dean.

 

“Van, _s‘rsly_ ,” Nicole slurs as Vanessa joins her and the other bridesmaids at the side of the ballroom behind pipe and drape. “D’you really just pick up some _barfly_ and bring him to my _wedding_?”

 

“Technically, he brought me,” Vanessa answers, shaking her dark, shiny curls over her shoulders, as the DJ announces the wedding party and starts the dance-mix. “Plus...” she turns a sharp gaze to Nicole. “Did you see his mouth? I’m gonna ride that into the sunset.” Vanessa smirks, leaving Nicole slack-jawed, as she files out onto the dance floor with the other bridesmaids for their practiced routine. 


	2. Chapter 2

**This may seem a tad OOC for Dean, but I’m coming from the angle that he’s playing a role. We know the Winchesters do a lot of role playing with regard to occupations, etc. while on cases, so his skillful theatrics could very easily spill into this kind of situation if given the opportunity.**

**Now, this is where this fic begins to earn its rating. *cracks knuckles***

 

##

 

“That was...” Dean pulls a face with wide eyes and lips in the shape of a mock-impressed O as he whistles. “Somethin’ else.”

 

Vanessa giggles. “Shut up and gimme my drink,” she leans against the bar next to him as he slides her a vodka with club soda and lime.

 

“I had no idea what you wanted,” Dean says. “But, uhh...” He glances around until his eyes fall on the bartender at the other side of the bar. “ _Tad,_ ” he looks back at her and flutters his eyelashes flirtatiously and Vanessa snorts a small laugh. “Claims vodka/soda was mentioned by the bride, so...” Dean looks down into his whiskey with an eye-crinkly smile.

 

Vanessa nods. “It’s perfect.” She swirls the liquid with her swizzle stick before tossing the stick to the side and taking a long sip. There’s a lull in their banter as they watch people mulling about, finding their seats for dinner. Vanessa tries to think of something to say because she’s afraid that Dean’s regretting her proposition. Just when she is about to stutter something random, just to fill the air, Dean stands to his full height, looking down at her with eyes full of trouble and charm.

 

He reaches for her hand. “There’s a broom closet callin’ our names, sweetheart.” He grins and tilts his head again like he did in the bar to beckon her to him, squinting his eyes, staring into her - and she feels a tug in her gut. He watches her, slowly twisting their fingers together and apart, teasing the sensitive skin of her palm.

 

“Okay,” Vanessa nods, drawing a short, sharp breath and Dean grins. Then he lifts her hand with his and aims for the double doors, rests his other hand on her hip and his cheek to hers, and with eyes laser-focused on the exit, he tangos them out of the ballroom and into the lobby, leaving confused reception attendees in their wake.

 

##

 

It takes about five seconds for Dean to pick the lock and they’re inside the closet. It’s temperature controlled and extremely tidy, even though it contains cleaning supplies.

 

“This is cozy,” Vanessa says, glancing around, trying to figure out what his plan is. There isn’t really any place for her to sit or kneel that isn’t cold and/or concrete, so her promised blow-job isn’t going to be pleasant for her.

 

“Wonder if we can order drinks in here,” Dean snarks, ghosting his hands over the chiffon gathered at her hips and wrapping his arms around her waist. He rests his chin on her shoulder and she can smell his shampoo and what she assumes is just him - leather and something earthy.

 

“ _Broom_ service?” Vanessa snorts at her own joke and Dean groans.

 

“You’re worse than I am,” he says, turning her to face him, running a finger across her exposed collarbone. “My baby brother hates my puns.” He looks strangely serious for a moment - maybe a little melancholy - as his eyes follow the trail of fire left behind by his fingertips on her skin.

 

She pulls in a deep breath and tries another one, just to make him smile. “Think you can _handle_ me?”

 

Dean’s head is still dipped low but his eyes flick to meet hers then to the brooms and mops, a dark smile settling over his face, then back to her eyes. “Don’t tempt me,” he says, straightening and removing his jacket. He inexplicably wraps the denim around her shoulders before walking her backward, holding her gaze. When her back hits the cinderblock wall between two wire racks full of bottles and rags and rolls of toilet paper, she understands why he put his jacket back there.

 

Before she knows it, Dean’s on his knees at her feet, his stance wide, the black denim straining across his hips and groin and thighs. He watches her reaction as he slowly slides his hands up her skirt, bunching all that chiffon over his arms, until he can loop his fingers around the thong to pull it off.

 

Vanessa is literally stunned - like buzzing ears and whirring vision stunned. This beautiful man is on his knees in front of her and he’s being gentle and he’s in the moment and he’s funny and he really seems to  _like_ her.

 

“I thought I was s’posed to be on my knees,” she murmurs, unable to divide her attention between what he’s doing and simple thought. Dean carefully lifts each of her silk-wrapped feet to remove the scrap of lace from her body. He crumples the lace in one hand and meets her eyes then seamlessly slips the bit of fabric into the inside pocket of his jacket. He looks smug down there, his big, pretty jewel embedded eyes framed in lush lashes, pouty lips, and perfect, perfect everything - just looking up at her.

 

His hands are under her skirt again, fingertips lazily stroking the silken skin of her thighs. She sighs, and he starts to gather the delicate chiffon to one side, twisting the fabric a few times until it looks a little like a tutu then tucks the end behind the small of her back before moving into her.

 

He takes his time occupying her space and settling in close. She gasps and grabs the support bars on the racks at her sides when he wraps his fingers around the backs of her knees and lifts until her legs are draped over his shoulders. He shifts again, ensuring that she’s safely anchored and comfortable.

 

“You good?” He asks and she nods. Then he presses the most chaste kiss to her bare cunt that anyone ever could to such a place.

 

“ _Jesus,”_  Vanessa breathes, dropping one hand to his head and gripping into the soft brown hair. He scatters kisses outside her lips and the delicate skin at the juncture of her groin and inner thigh, lightly nipping and sucking along the way.

 

“Vanessa,” Dean says her name for the first time since they met, and the sound of it falling from his lips is melodic and warm, reverent. “Look at me.” He wraps an arm around her hips, holding her in place and she feels the fingers of his other hand, teasing her folds from underneath.

 

When she obeys his command, he licks his lips and looks like a big cat again - cool and comfortable, but coiled and ready to strike. And then he does.

 

Dean’s tongue slowly unfurls from between his perfect lips. He holds her heated gaze as he languidly licks her from a spot she’d normally deem as forbidden and drags it through her wet to her clit. She tenses and juts up into his face, and he squeezes her hips with his steel band of an arm.

 

“Relax,” he breathes and the puff of air caresses her damp, sensitive skin. Vanessa closes her eyes from the overstimulation of feeling him and watching him work her over, just to get her breathing under control. He lightly swipes the flat of his tongue back and forth across her clit as he slides a finger inside her and one alongside her clit.

 

Vanessa’s breathing is ragged as she grips the wire rack so tightly her knuckles ache, her other hand roughly twisting in Dean’s hair. He groans and slides another finger inside her while continuing to double up on her clit with his tongue and thumb. Then she feels another thick, calloused finger slide between her cheeks and violently thrusts into his face.

 

“ _Hooooo_ , shit,” she gasps and jerks her hips, keeping her eyes shut tight. Dean chuckles quietly and reinforces his grip with his arm. He doesn’t persist beyond lightly brushing against her tight hole, but the simple sensation makes Vanessa’s brain spin.

 

“So tight,” he mutters against her wet skin between licks. “Are you close?”

He curls his fingers inside her cunt, pressing and rubbing her front wall with his broad fingertips while firmly rotating her clit with his tongue and she clenches tighter around his fingers.

 

Vanessa nods and finally opens her eyes. She knows watching him will push her over the edge. The sight of him eating her so voraciously, the sounds he’s making, the glistening mix of her slick and his spit smearing his mouth and cheeks and nose is debauched and beautiful; and when Dean pulls her clit fully into his mouth and sucks long and slow she’s coming with a loud wail of utter pleasure.

 

##

 

Dean opens the closet door and ushers Vanessa, who is now a mess of flushed cheeks and tangled curls, out into the packed lobby. He’s just as bad looking, swiping a big hand over his wet mouth lasciviously then running said hand through his own mussed hair. The extra added bonus is, the mother of the bride is just outside the door with the catering manager and hasn’t missed a second of the scene.

 

“Vanessa?” Nicole’s mom’s shrill voice skitters over Vanessa’s very calmed nerves. In fact, Vanessa can’t remember ever being so not-annoyed by Nicole’s mom.

 

“Hey, Liz,” Vanessa mutters and smiles dreamily as Dean slides a hand under her wild hair, gripping the back her neck, and pointedly licking his fingers.

 

Liz scoffs and Dean winks at her before walking back to the ballroom with Vanessa. “Guess m’not getting my thong back any time soon?” She asks looking up at Dean’s permanent smirk.

 

“More like never,” he replies, and her hand wanders up his back under layers of denim, flannel, and cotton to touch his skin. She hums with delight at the curve of his lower back and how smooth he is, and it suddenly occurs to her that she’s barely touched him and they have yet to kiss.

 

“Van,” Katie, the maid of honor, who mercifully has a soft spot for Vanessa, calls to her as they enter the ballroom. She glances appreciatively at Dean before continuing. “We added a seat and a place setting to our table for...”

 

Vanessa smirks. “My plus one,” she says, knowing that it’s killing everyone that they have no idea who he is.

 

“Right,” Katie replies with a tense smile. “We’re over here.” She leads Vanessa and Dean to the big table where the wedding party is seated with their respective dates.

 

Dean reaches for the chair designated for Vanessa and pulls it out, simultaneously removing his jacket from her shoulders. She smooths her now rumpled skirt and takes a seat as Dean helps her slide into the table and hanging his jacket over the back of her chair before taking his seat beside her.

 

“Oh, my God, Vanessa,” Nicole hollers. “Your hair is a god damned disaster!”

 

Vanessa flushes and Dean rears back, making a show of examining her as he strokes her disheveled curls. “I dunno, I thought I did a damn fine job,” he announces, and the table erupts in a mixture of amusement, discomfort, and disgust. Vanessa feels her body pleasantly heat.

 

Dean grins, his arm thrown across the back of her chair, and leans into her, kissing her cheek once then waiting for her to turn and face him. When she does, he kisses her lips long and slow with his eyes closed. Vanessa sinks into his kiss and drops a hand into his lap, a chorus of sighs surrounding her.

 

“Miss?” An attendant with wine waits patiently behind them until Vanessa realizes what he’s asking.

 

“Oh, sorry,” she mutters, settling back into her seat. “Red, please.” The attendant fills her red glass and sweeps the empty white glass from her setting before turning to Dean.

 

“Sir?” He looks expectantly to Dean.

 

Dean shakes his head. “Whiskey,” he says, guiding Vanessa’s hand back into his lap and upward until she’s brushing the hard bulge over his zipper. Vanessa can hear Nicole scoff from eight seats away and she grins.

 

The attendant nods, unfazed as he moves on to the next party member, flagging down another attendant for Dean’s drink.

 

Vanessa steadily rubs and strokes over Dean’s groin. He keeps his legs sprawled so she can have better access. The heat rolling off him makes her wet all over again and she can smell herself, even over his strong, masculine scent.

 

“Steak,” Dean tells the attendant when he comes by to take their dinner orders. Vanessa echoes his request and asks for a refill of her wine and his whiskey.

 

Somehow, Dean avoids answering any personal questions and actively focuses his attention on Vanessa. He twirls the ends of her hair in his fingertips, traces invisible patterns on her exposed shoulders, and doesn’t hesitate when she slides her fingers between his lips between feeding herself and him bread dipped in olive oil and balsamic vinegar.

 

The entire wedding party and more than half their table neighbors are openly watching them and Vanessa gets off on it. She never knew she was such an exhibitionist.

 

“Mmm,” Dean moans. “That’s some good shit.” Once the bread is gone, he captures her hand in one of his and finally traps her tangy, oily fingers between his lips one by one. He takes his time sucking them clean and Vanessa is sure that she hears several feminine groans.

 

By the time their entrees are delivered, Vanessa is so wound up, she suggests they hit the broom closet for a quickie.

 

“Oh, sweetheart,” Dean cups her jaw. “When I finally get inside you, I’m gonna need more than a quickie.” He isn’t quiet about it, either, so his comment is followed by silverware clanging to china and someone choking on her wine.

 

Vanessa swallows thickly and nods. “Then let’s make _this_ quick,” she motions to their meals and Dean nods in agreement before digging into his perfectly cooked steak and potatoes.

 

He moans and groans and rolls his eyes as he devours his meal and Vanessa finds the obvious pleasure he derives from eating to be yet another turn-on. She really cannot wait to get him upstairs to her room and she’s satisfied that she’s accomplished exactly what she set out to do by asking him to accompany her to this event.

 

##

 

**Tad is a reference to the movie Ten Inch Hero, in which Jensen plays the (other) man of my dreams.**

**Broom closet puns are courtesy of marksmanfem.**


	3. Chapter 3

They don’t wait for the first dance, they don’t wait for the bride and groom to cut the cake. As soon as they’re finished eating, Vanessa and Dean push away from the table, bidding their tablemates the most inadequate of goodnights and Vanessa drags him toward the exit.

 

“Van, wait up,” a newly familiar female voice calls from behind them. When Vanessa turns she sees one of the bridesmaids hurrying to catch up with her.

 

“Which floor,” Dean asks, lightly running his knuckles over her bare arm. “I’ll get the elevator.” He doesn’t want to waste time and he doesn’t want to hear what the other woman has to say.

 

“Ten,” Vanessa answers, shivering from his touch and accepting his jacket when he offers it. “I’ll only be a second.” She wraps the black denim around her shoulders, and Dean boops her nose with a grin before heading to the elevator bank.

 

Vanessa turns to the bridesmaid. “What’s up, Emma?” She asks.

 

Emma watches Dean walk away then quietly speaks. “Hey, so - that guy,” she starts, and Vanessa rolls her eyes. “No, listen,” Emma reaches for Vanessa’s hand. “Every male-attracted person in this room is green with envy right now and silently cheering you on.” Emma smiles warmly and Vanessa relaxes. “I just wanna make sure you’re safe.”

 

Vanessa blinks. “Well... thanks.” It really hadn’t occurred to her that she may be doing something unsafe. Dean exuded a sense of security from the moment she entered his sphere. “But, I mean, he’s not scary or anything.”

 

Emma smiles and nods. “Well, he’s pretty aggressive,” she says pointedly. “And big.” They both sigh. “But, I definitely trust your judgment, I just want you to know that I’m right next door in 1005.” She squeezes Vanessa’s hand in her before releasing her. “So if you need anything, lemme know. And _have fun_.” She winks before turning and heading back to the wedding party table.

 

Vanessa joins Dean just as the elevator doors open. “Everything okay?” He mutters, placing a kiss to the top of her head as he ushers her inside the elevator car. He wonders if the little show they put on pushed things too far.

 

“Everything’s great,” Vanessa says, and when the doors close and they’re alone, she turns into him and pulls him down for a kiss. She feels him relax in a way he hasn’t since she met him. He rests his hands on her hips and slowly pushes his tongue into her mouth.

 

She cards her fingers through his hair and moans into the deep, languorous kiss. Turns out that mouth of his can do  _all_ the things. He pulls back slightly and brushes his full, parted lips over hers before pulling her top lip between his then diving back in deep. She’s wet again, just from his mouth on hers but she really thinks that she could do nothing else all night and this would be enough.

 

When the elevator dings, signaling they’ve reached their destination, Vanessa reluctantly pulls away from Dean’s lips. His eyes are still closed as he chases her mouth with his, but she’s persistent in her exit from the car. “C’mon,” she coaxes him. “Wait’ll you see the bed,” she says with a giggle and Dean grins lazily, following her, hand in hand.

 

They get inside her room and Dean’s hands are on her again and he’s kissing her. She shakes his jacket from her frame and pushes his work shirt from his shoulders then slides her hands up under his t-shirt. He sighs into her mouth and lifts her until her legs are wrapped around his waist.

 

She left a bedside lamp on and the curtains open, so the light in the room is low and the moonlight filters through the sheers. Dean walks them to the bed, the blue light of the moon loving the curves of his face as he kisses her like it’s the main event; but she knows better - shit’s about to get real.

 

Dean settles her on the side of the bed before standing and quickly pulling his black t-shirt over his head and discarding it. He has a large tattoo on his left pec; it’s kind of intense looking and her stomach flips. Every newly revealed dimension of this man has Vanessa on the edge of her seat. Maybe she should be cautious like Emma warned, but her gut tells her she doesn’t need to be afraid of him.

 

Before she can take in the dips and curves of his torso, he’s at her feet, removing her shoes. He tosses them over his shoulders and runs his hands up under her skirt, kneeling upright between her legs, kissing her again and sliding his fingers over the smooth skin of her hips. She rests her hands on his bare shoulders and lets him kiss her. When she starts to move her hands to explore him, she can feel scars.

 

“What’s this?” She whispers, cupping her hand over the tattoo as her other hand wanders the hard planes of his body, cataloging the long-healed damage to his otherwise perfect skin. That sense of danger lingers in the back of her mind, but his eyes soothe any fear she might have.

 

Dean tucks his chin into his chest, looking down at her delicate hand over the anti-possession tattoo. For every woman who asks this question - and they all do - he has a different answer. “Kind of a family thing,” he says, tilting his head to press his lips to her neck, licking and nipping the spot before moving down to her collarbones.

 

She gasps and sighs as his mouth moves and his hands roam. “I didn’t even ask what you do for a living,” she murmurs, as he wraps his hand around one knee and pulls her to the edge of the bed. He laughs at that - more of a chuckle really - it isn’t cruel. “I know, I know...” She laughs too.

 

Dean pulls back and looks her in the eyes, one of his calloused hands brushes the inside of her thigh before softly pressing his knuckles against where she’s wet. “My brother and I,” he starts, running a fingertip along her slit and her breath shudders. “Run the family business - kinda...” he pushes a finger inside her and she moans. “Private investigators.”  He smirks and watches her grin. She closes her eyes and breathes deep, tipping her head back, submitting to the moment, as he pushes another finger inside her.

 

He doesn’t ask her what she does and she doesn’t tell him - it doesn’t matter. All that matters is sinking into her, forgetting all the bullshit of his life for just one night. She’s perfect, willing and right on the edge, and she doesn’t ask too many questions.

 

She grips his elbows, trying to pull him into her while lifting and thrusting her hips onto his hand. He gently swipes his thumb across her swollen clit a few times and slowly twists his fingers inside her until he can press his fingers against that spot. When he does, he presses down on her clit with his thumb and rubs and she’s coming, gasping his name.

 

Dean pulls his fingers out of her to warmly cup her in one hand, pushing the other into the back of her hair, kissing her down and holding her steady. She reaches down to fumble with his belt and he lets her. She pulls the leather from the metal buckle and pops his buttons open one by one. She can feel his heat, and her want for him ramps up that much more.

 

“God,” she breathes, mimicking the way he’s cupping her, just to feel him.

 

Dean presses his forehead to hers. “Y’okay?” He asks, and she pulls in a shaky breath and nods. He nods in return, pulling his hand from under her skirt and helping her to her feet.

 

“Can I undress you?” He asks, holding her hands and eyes with his. The essence of this gaze is a one-hundred-and-eighty-degree turn from the one in the broom closet. Gone is the craft and guile from earlier in the evening. This look isn’t veiled; it’s open and longing, and she’s stunned by the realness.

 

“Yes,” she answers, and he kisses her lips before circling behind her, her skin prickling in anticipation.

 

His hands are on her, ghosting over her skin, outward across her shoulders then down her arms. He pushes her hair over the front of her shoulder and presses a wet kiss to the scripted tattoo on the nape of her neck then peppers smaller kisses and nips down her spine between her shoulder blades. His breath is warm as it caresses her.

 

When he reaches under her arm to unzip the side of her dress she melts into him, resting her head back on his shoulder and gripping his solid thighs. The dress cascades to the floor, pooling at her bare feet. Dean pops the clasp on her strapless bra and it lands atop the heap of pink chiffon. He doesn’t waste a second before his warm hands cup her breasts, fingers and thumbs lightly pulling on her hardening nipples.

 

He buries his face in the crook of her neck and she reaches one hand up behind her to grasp the back of his head. She pushes at his open pants with her other hand. “Get these off and get inside me,” she breathes.

 

She feels him smile against her skin. “Yes, ma’am.” His hands and body leave her and she’s chilled. She turns to see him sitting on the bed, unlacing and removing his boots and socks. He stands and shucks his jeans and boxers to the floor then reaches for her.

 

“Why don’t you drive,” he says, twisting and twining their fingers and hands and swaying from side to side. In that moment Vanessa feels what he’s giving her. She’s emboldened by his confidence in her and she seizes the moment.

 

“Okay,” she says, feeling less vulnerable than she should, being naked with a large unfamiliar man in her hotel room. “Lie back, get comfy.”

 

Dean does as he’s told, sitting then slinking backward on the bed until he settles against the pillows. He reminds her of a cat again - the way he moves, sure of himself and utterly in control of his body in a way that makes her shiver anew.

 

She climbs onto the big plush bed and crawls over him. He’s so beautiful and Vanessa doesn’t think that word very often when describing such a masculine creature, but it fits him perfectly - from his head to his toes, to the tips of his fingers and his hard, thick cock.

 

“I still owe you.” Vanessa slides one knee between his legs. “Technically,” she says, wrapping a hand around his length and settling over one meaty thigh. “I owe you three.”

 

Dean slides a hand up her bare thigh and revels in her slick coating his skin where she sits. “Gonna be a long night, then,” he says, tilting his head.

 

Vanessa laughs. “Oh, yeah?” She twists her hand around his cock and he rolls his head back with a wide grin. “Why’s that?” He’s leaking precum and she uses her other hand to swirl a finger around his tip to gather it then slides it into her mouth to taste him.

 

He opens his eyes and looks back at her just in time to watch her finger disappear between her lips, and he groans. “Well,” he breathes. “I like bein’ ahead in my numbers, Vanessa.” His hands are squeezing her thighs in a rhythm she can’t place until she realizes it’s the same rhythm she’s set around his cock.

 

“Is that a challenge, Dean?” Vanessa grinds her cunt into his thigh, rotating her clit, vaguely wondering if getting herself off counts if she’s using his leg to do it.

 

“Up to you,” he says, his voice raw and rough - even rougher than usual.

 

Vanessa scoots back, slicking his thigh with her want and dips her head to lick him. “Mmm,” she moans and she isn’t making it up - he tastes like salt and earth and man. He smells like fire and metal and she’s overloaded by it all, but she wants more. She takes him into her mouth and Dean digs his fingers into the skin of her thighs.

 

Vanessa slides out of his reach to get a better angle on his cock. She isn’t ready to take him all the way down her throat, yet, and she kind of wants to tease him a little - see how far she can push him.

 

She swirls her tongue around his thickness, holding him steady at his base, and slides her other hand down under to stroke the rest of him. Dean’s gripping the sheets as he bends the knee of his free leg and lets it fall to the side, opening himself to her. Vanessa takes the hint and slides a finger along the crack of his ass and he hisses.

 

“Shit,” he whispers, throbbing against her tongue.

 

She swipes her finger deeper, squeezes his cock hard then slides down onto him until he hits the back of her throat. She pulls off and presses her finger more insistently against his hole and he’s arching off the bed and crying out. He’s still so hard, though, and she’s glad because she really wants him to come in her mouth.

 

“Don’t come yet,” she says, slowly massaging his tight ring. She’s gauging whether or not to breach him. She can tell that he’ll love it and she’s sure he can take it, but even she’s overstimulated right now. “I want you in my throat when you come the first time.”

 

Dean’s jaw clenches tightly and he groans loud again. “Then ya better get on my dick, sweetheart, because I ain’t gonna last much longer,” he grits out.

 

Vanessa’s panting hot breath when she takes him in her mouth again. She works to loosen her jaw and relax her throat and pushes down over him until her airway is closed with the breadth of him, so she’s breathing deep through her nose. She reaches for his hand and drops it on the back of her head before she starts to move.

 

Dean slips his fingers through her tangled curls. His body wants to fuck into her tight, wet throat but he’s pretty sure she knows exactly what she’s doing.

 

She swallows and sucks and wraps her tongue around him, and after a few more passes, she pushes the tip of her finger inside him and presses, and he gasps, lifting his hips off the bed and pushing all the way down her throat. When he comes it’s hot and heavy and she’s choking on it.

 

She can’t swallow it all, as much as she wants to. He’s spilled down her chin and jaw and neck. He’s panting heavily and before she can get up for a washcloth to clean up he hauls her against him and kisses her deep and long. She’s never known a guy who would kiss her with his cum still on her tongue and lips.

 

Dean rolls her to her back and then rolls himself off the bed. She watches him walk to the bathroom. He walks like his legs are heavy and his dick’s in the way. When he returns, he has a warm, wet washcloth and a hand towel.

 

“Thanks,” she says, sitting up and reaching for the washcloth.

 

Dean lays the towel aside and clasps her outreached hand in his. “Let me?” He asks and she blushes like he didn’t just come in her mouth.

 

She nods and Dean climbs between her legs. “Lay back,” he says, swiping the warm wet cloth over her lips and chin and down her neck. She lies still as he wedges his open knees under her thighs, pitching her hips upward, thoroughly cleaning her and kissing her. He tosses the soiled rag to the floor and hovers over her, hands braced on either side of her chest.

 

He drops his lips over and over along the thin skin of her throat, remembering how well she took him moments before and he starts to swell between her legs. Her hands are in his hair and running the expanse of his hard, perfectly flawed body and she feels him rubbing against her swollen clit.

 

“Dean,” Vanessa whispers, lazily rolling her lips in his lap for more friction and burrowing her shoulders into the fluffy pillows as he makes his way to her mouth. “Dean...” She doesn’t know what she’s trying to say. She feels everything at that moment and she doesn’t want to stop. She wants him inside her, but she also just likes feeling him this way.

 

She’s opened up and exposed to him in a similar way to how he was to her earlier, and the feeling is electric and erotic. She arches her back and he drags his lips and tongue to her breast, circling one with his tongue and gently pulling on the other with thumb and fingers.

 

“Inside, Dean,” she reaches for his hardening cock and strokes him lightly then squeezes. “Please.”

 

He lets her grip him and slip him along her slit and he swells even more, cupping a breast in his palm to gently squeeze and suck. “Are you-” he starts.

 

“I’m covered,” she says, lining him up with her slick opening. “Please, Dean.”

 

He nods and drops his hips, pushing inside her slowly and she lifts her feet to hook behind his back, spurring him on. He has the leverage though, especially when he rises to his knees, bringing her hips with him. He loops a forearm under her, holding her in place then splays his big hand over her lower belly, the heel of his hand pressing over her clit, his thrusts are shallow but hard.

 

“What’re you-” she gasps. “ _Holy_... Dean.” He looks down at her with distilled hunger. She’s never felt anything like it, the intense pressure building in the spot she always thought to be an elusive point of concentration; but it’s filling her full with liquid heat and searing her from the inside.

 

The combination of his dick bumping and rubbing that spot inside and his big, heavy hand pressing down where they’re connected - she’s losing control of everything. Vanessa starts to see spots in her vision and she tries to remember to breathe. Then she’s exploding, wet and hot and everything fades to black.

 

When she comes to, Dean’s curled around her back, the pleasant weight of his arm thrown across her waist, and they’re burrowed under the luxury of the hotel covers. He’s turned the TV on, but he doesn’t seem to be paying much attention. Instead, he’s drawing lazy circles on her belly and brushing his lips back and forth against her neck.

 

Vanessa sighs and nuzzles back into his warmth. “How long was I out?” She asked, her voice cracking from overuse and dehydration. Dean reaches for a bottle of water on the nightstand and hands it to her.

 

“Five minutes, maybe,” he mutters, pulling her earlobe between his lips.

 

She props herself up on one arm and gulps the water down. When the covers fall away from her skin, Dean traces the curve of her side with a calloused finger, leaving goose bumps in its wake.

 

When the bottle’s empty, Vanessa lays back in place and thrusts her ass into his groin. He’s incredibly hard and he easily slips between her slick thighs and blessedly up between her wet lips. “Fuck, keep doing that,” Vanessa says.

 

“Ready for another round already,” Dean says, sliding through the wet, forward and back, a little more insistent than earlier. He lifts her leg at the knee, opening her and tucking it back over his hip and pushes inside her.

 

Vanessa shivers deep in her core because he’s dragging over that spot inside again. She’s had plenty of orgasms in her life but never one that intense and she’s not sure she can handle another. “Jesus, Dean, what’re you doing to me?” She twines her fingers with the hand that’s holding her open and grips the pillow with her other.

 

He kisses her neck with a small, quiet laugh. “What d’you want me to do?” He asks, rolling her to her stomach and she doubts this will be any less intense.

 

“Honestly?” She asks. “Anything you want at this point, I’m just... jelly.”

 

Dean laughs and settles back on his feet between her legs. He massages her thighs and hips and ass, sliding his thumbs along that sweet, sensitive crease between her ass and upper thigh to run them along her soaking wet slit and up between her ass cheeks.

 

Vanessa groans. “I’ve never had anyone in my ass but if you want it you can have it,” she speaks dreamily. “I meant it - anything you want.”

 

“No,” he says, running his wet hands up her back and digging his thumbs into her shoulders. “Tell me what _you_ want.”

 

She thinks about his question. She wasn’t lying - anything he did would surely be magnificent - but what she really wants is simple. She wants him hard and deep inside her. “I wanna feel you for days after this.”

 

Dean nods without her seeing it and drags his hands back down her body, pulling her hips until she’s on her hands and knees. “How many days?” He asks, pushing her knees together with his.

 

Vanessa’s breath shudders in anticipation. “Oh, I dunno,” her voice is unreasonably strained and high-pitched and she swallows hard. “Six or seven?”

 

Her thighs are slick with her arousal. Dean pushes a hand between her legs and drags two fingers back through her slit. He’s got one ass cheek gripped and pulled open with one big hand and he’s spreading the wet all over with his fingers. He circles the tight ring with the tip of his middle finger a few times then guides himself inside her cunt.

 

“I’ll see what I can do,” Dean says, once he’s fully seated inside her. She’s relaxed and really fucking wet, so it wasn’t hard for him to get inside, but she is so full of him. She feels every centimeter of him as he moves back and forth, even the slightest bit of slide. She feels his head bump and brush her back wall and it makes her knees buckle.

 

“Here,” he presses a hand between her shoulder blades and she lowers, tucking a pillow under her chest to make room for her head to hang comfortably against the mattress.

 

When he moves again, he’s right back at that spot that made her make such a mess earlier. “Fuck, Dean, you like that spot, huh?”

 

He laughs, slowly but persistently dragging across that spot and sliding his thumb over her tight asshole. “Well, yeah,” he says. “Don’t you?”

 

“Well, yeah,” she shakily echoes his sentiment. “But I blacked out and made a goddamn mess.” She exhales deeply.

 

“Hey,” he leans forward, draping himself over her. “I just wanna make you feel good.” He rotates his hips and she can feel him in her gut. “If you don’t want this-”

 

“I do,” she says, arching her neck to kiss his lips, where they’re so close to hers. “Seven days, Dean. Let’s do this.”

 

Dean grins then kisses the tip of her nose before kneeling behind her once again. He pulls back and pushes in slow and steady. Vanessa breathes through it, hugging the plush pillow to her chest. He picks up his pace and every stroke against her galvanizes her to ecstasy. Before she knows it, there’s a snap and crackle from inside her, sizzling across her hips and out. She’s definitely coming but she’s never had an orgasm like this before - again - this one’s like a million tiny flutters and they’re everywhere.

 

“Fuck,” Dean breathes. She’s clenching around him and he thinks that he can’t hold it much longer. He pulls out and rolls her to her back, slides his hands under her legs and lifting, so she's wide open and her feet are resting on his shoulders. He slams back into her and she’s still coming. She shouts out loud and he keeps hammering into her. “Oh, fuck,” he swears again.

 

“Yes, Dean,” she breathes, raking her nails across his shoulders, leaving marks behind. “Yes,” she sobs, and she just hopes that Emma is still downstairs.

 

She feels him spill inside her hot and deep, scorching. He drops his forehead to hers in that endearing way that she’s come to love and then slowly lowers himself to settle between her legs.

 

He’s still inside her as he kisses her. She runs her hands everywhere she can and drops her feet to the bed, so she’s hugging his hips. They’re so warm like this, entwined and connected, deep and wet. His kisses are slow but deliberate.

 

“Need anything?” He asks, kissing her jaw and neck. He’s propped on his elbows so he’s not crushing her with his body mass, but she kind of wants that.

 

She shakes her head and sighs. She’s already pleasantly sore and aching in all the right places and just having him like this is like the cherry on top of the most delicious sundae she’s ever had.

 

Then she feels him stir inside her and her hips involuntarily thrust up into him. “You’re kidding,” she says, catching his eye.

 

He looks almost shy for a second. “I don’t kid about this kinda thing,” he says, swiveling his hips and pushing into her. He’s steadily growing inside her and it’s the most erotic feeling she’s ever felt.

 

“Dean, you’re not real,” she huffs an exhausted laugh. “This is a dream, right?”

 

He laughs in return and kisses her then starts thrusting in earnest. He pushes her legs open, bracing his hands on the insides of her knees, flattening them to the mattress. “Think this’ll get you through seven days?” He asks and she’s helpless beneath him. She nods and takes all that he gives.

 

##

 

“Mornin’,” Vanessa hears Katie’s voice behind her as she heaps cheesy eggs and bacon onto her plate.

 

She and Dean took a ridiculously long, hot shower and she’s scrubbed clean of all makeup or hair products, or evidence that Dean ever existed. But her body remembers him.

 

“Hey,” Vanessa returns with a lopsided smile. She barely slept and she is definitely ready for a nap, but she’s starving so she decided to join the wedding party for brunch and gift opening.

 

“Where’s Paul Newman?” Katies asks, helping herself to some eggs, nudging and side-eyeing Vanessa.

 

Vanessa breathes a small laugh. “He does have that look, doesn’t he?” She says dreamily, dumping salsa over her eggs. She suddenly imagined him in a suit, debonair and dashing.

 

“Yeah, he does,” Katie replies, tucking a stray lock of hair behind Vanessa’s ear. “You okay?”

 

Vanessa looks her in the eye. “Yeah,” she answers, feeling a little guilty for her hostility toward the wedding party the night before. The women - apart from the bride - have been fantastic to her. “I am. I’m spent, but I’m... _good_.”

 

Katie groans and rolls her eyes, but she’s laughing. “Ugh, that good, huh?”

 

Vanessa nods with a grin. “That good.”

 

They head to the Bloody Mary bar. “Did he leave?” Katie asks, delicately, gauging Vanessa’s reaction.

 

Vanessa nods. “Couple hours ago.” The regret claws at her stomach as they sit with Emma and her boyfriend at a round table. Vanessa’s lack of sleep creeps up on her. She feels tears prick her eyes.

 

Emma reaches for her hand. “Hey,” she says with a wide grin. “How was your night?”

 

Vanessa accepts Emma’s warm hand in hers with a nod. "It was pretty fucking amazing," she answers. "One might say he left a lasting impression." 

 

Emma snorts. "I bet he did!" 

 

And Vanessa really does feel him for the next seven days, pleasantly deep inside her heart and her soul.

 

##

 

**I have never in my life written such an extensive blow job scene. I feel very accomplished. *takes a bow***

**Also, don’t worry about Vanessa, she’ll be fine; you don’t get fucked like that without feeling some seriously intense emotions**

**Thanks for reading and commenting. These two were fun. And thanks for humoring me by bearing with OOC Dean for the first couple of chaps. ;-)**

**P.S. Glass_Jacket and marksmanfem are my glitches.**

**Author's Note:**

> Kisses to the two other thirds of my Fic Trifecta: Glass Jacket + marksmanfem.
> 
> Tip o’ the hat to bbrose for the “ready to be released at the slightest provocation” line. Xox
> 
> Fun fact: In Hawaii, peridot symbolizes the tears of Pele, the volcano goddess of fire who controls the flow of lava.
> 
> “Hair of the Dog” is for GJ, my soulmate.
> 
> Since this is season 10, episode 11.4 “Baby” has yet to take place. That said, “Strong work, (Zack)” is a nod to that episode.  
>    
> Glass Jacket’s summary of how Dean’s Craig’s List ad would read if he were a professional wedding crasher:  
> “Have a wedding you really don’t wanna fucking go to?  Want to piss some people off and you don’t give a shit?  Hi, I’m Dean.  I’m 36, 6’2”, blond hair, green eyes.  I don’t do suits.  I do do whiskey.  I enjoy being a dick, but not to you, just to people who deserve it.  I’ll show up, cause a scandal, and make sure everyone is talking about it months after the bouquet has faded.  Call now.  Rates are negotiable.  If you have a friend, I can talk my baby bro into a double date.”


End file.
